The Homeless Guy
by RackOnInNC
Summary: Dean in 1st chapter, others later on. NO SLASH. Dean encounters a mysterious homeless man and feels compelled to help him.  When he does finally make contact he has a dilemma on his hands...help and put himself and the man in danger or leave him as is.
1. The Homeless Guy

**I've had this one stewing since episode 7-2. Figured I'd go ahead and put it up. I didn't get a single review on my last chapter so I'm thinking it's time to hang up my writing and spend the time doing something else if no one is enjoying it. I will attempt to finish up my multi-chapter things and that will be it unless I get some feedback that I should continue.**

**For those that are seeing this all in BOLD, I have no idea why it is doing that since it looks normal in Document Manager. I have tried several things to fix it but nothing is working.**

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><p>Dean watched through the window as the homeless man trudged along the street, hunched over as if he hadn't straightened his back in years. It was his normal, eerily consistent, route through town and every time Dean came to this particular bar the guy would always appear right on schedule pushing a grocery cart full of his treasures. When he asked the regular patrons of the bar about him their reply was inevitably <em>Nice guy, doesn't say much…just appeared in town a few years ago and started walking the town<em>. Dean normally didn't pay much attention to homeless guys unless they had information he needed on a hunt, but there was something about the relentless trudge, trudge, trudge…always at the same speed…that mesmerized him.

No one had actually seen the guy's face. He was always wearing a hoodie, a ragged paisley scarf around the lower part of his face, and a beat up pair of Oakley M Frame mirror lens sunglasses that hid his eyes even when it was dark. All anyone seemed to know about him was that he never kept the items he scrounged from various dumpsters around town. He was particular about what he gathered, preferring to take items that were repairable or of some value. Repaired bicycles and toys always ended up at the nearby orphanage. Appliances found their way to families that were in need. Any money found or given to him was used to buy parts for the things he was fixing.

Dean had no idea why this guy had attracted his attention, but after three nights of watching him from the booth near the window he had decided to extend his stay. He wanted to find out more. The guy apparently didn't drink or do drugs like most bums…his only vice appeared to be smoking, as a trail of smoke seemed to follow him wherever he went. Although his clothing had obviously seen better days, they always seemed to be clean. Dean had been warned by everyone he talked to not to approach the man, since that usually resulted in his disappearance for a few days to parts unknown. Everyone had learned to leave any donations or unwanted items near the abandoned garage on the outskirts of town.

The next night when Dean knew the guy would be on his appointed rounds, he drove the Impala out the garage to look around. The door was padlocked with a shiny new lock…evidence that whoever was here wanted to protect something inside the dilapidated building. The windows were black with years of accumulated grime, so there was no way to see inside. Dean worked quickly to pick the lock and slipped inside, avoiding a trip wire that was attached to some old aluminum cans…a rudimentary alarm system. The entire area looked like it had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. He was surprised to find a neat workbench with tools carefully placed on the peg board above. A small, neat nest of old blankets in the corner told him that this was where the guy slept…no mattress though…just blankets on a concrete floor.

There was no sign of any personal items aside from a box containing packs of various brands of cigarettes…presumably given to him by people around town. The lack of personal items was disappointing. Dean had hoped to find a picture of a long lost family member or something that would provide a clue who this guy was. For some reason Dean wanted to help if he could…maybe find his family or at least help the guy out in some way.

Dean put the feeling down to guilt. The relentless nag in his gut whenever he thought of the way he had pushed a family member away years ago. No, Castiel wasn't really family, but in the years they fought side by side Dean had come to think of him that way. The disintegration of that relationship had weighed heavily since Castiel had disappeared. It took every bit of old magic they could find, but with Bobby and Sam's help they had managed to divest him of the souls and once that was done he simply winked out of existence before their eyes…no teary or angry goodbyes…no rustling of wings…no chick flick death scene…just _poof. _No amount of praying or summoning had produced any of the Angels afterward, so they were all left wondering what exactly had happened. Castiel was simply gone.

Carefully exiting and replacing the lock, Dean decided to drive the Impala into the woods where it wouldn't be seen and come back to watch from a nearby copse of trees when the man returned. After hiding the car he retrieved his binoculars from the trunk and walked quickly back. He didn't have long to wait. As he heard the grocery cart rattling down the road he made sure he was well hidden and trained the binoculars at corner of the building nearby. Just as the man appeared in the field of view he stopped and scanned the area as if he knew someone was watching. Nervously he took one last drag on the cigarette he was smoking and crushed it beneath one of the mismatched, battered boots he was wearing, looking around furtively. Dean quickly lowered the binoculars, hoping that the glass hadn't flashed in the moonlight and given away his position.

It felt like forever until the guy moved again, and Dean released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. As the neglected pavement got rougher towards the old garage the man had to struggle to keep it rolling and Dean resisted the urge to jump out and help. Once he reached the door he looked around again and slipped inside, pulling the cart inside with him. A faint light soon filtered out through the dirty windows, probably from the gas lantern Dean had seen on the workbench.

Dean stood behind the trees mulling his options. He hadn't discovered a single thing for all his efforts, but he was determined to find out something. Just as he decided to make a run for the tree line and back to the car he heard the faint sounds of a hammer pounding on something from within the building. It was nearly midnight and Dean would have thought that the guy would have been ready to rest, since his route around town was nearly 5 miles round trip. The fact that he was working on something even at this late hour when he was probably tired and maybe hungry told Dean that his guy was thinking only of others, not himself.

Dean decided that the only way to draw the guy out was through donations…donations made in an unusual location that would send the guy a message. He ran back to the car and rummaged through the trunk. Near the back he found the old boots and clothing he kept there for situations when his good stuff might get messed up. They were old, but in much better shape than what the guy was wearing. This would be the perfect first donation…something obviously for _him _not the people he was helping. He just hoped the boots would be the right size or at least close to it.

The next night Dean drove into town early, parking the Impala two blocks over and walking to the store across the street from the bar. There was a bench beside the door and he carefully placed the clothing he had taken to the laundry earlier in the day on it along with the boots. In the jeans pocket he had put a $100 dollar bill and a pack of cigarettes. He hesitated, wondering why he was doing it. He knew though…he was trying to make amends for his treatment of Castiel even if he couldn't do it directly.

Taking one look back at the gift, he hurried across to the bar and took his place in the booth by the window. Right on time the grocery cart appeared up the street and Dean watched as the man hesitated before approaching the bench. A shaky hand reached out to touch the bundle lightly and he turned to look directly at Dean. Dean froze as he realized he had been made, but after a second the man turned and gathered the clothing, placing it carefully on top of the items in his cart. With a brief look back he continued on his way.

The next night Dean went to the diner up the street and bought the special and some apple pie. Even though Sam griped about the lack of vegetables in his diet, Dean figured the guy could use some so he got the three vegetable plate with fried chicken. A stop at the small grocery store next door yielded a two liter bottle of Coke and some energy bars. He placed the items on the bench and took his place in the bar. There was no hesitation this time as the man approached the bench. Dean was momentarily perplexed when the guy got down on his knees in front of the bench, but after shifting his position slightly so he could see around the cart he could see the guy was apparently praying.

After rising the man sat down on the bench and slowly opened the larger of the two Styrofoam boxes and pulled the scarf down to reveal a heavy beard. He looked up at Dean briefly before taking a few bites and chewing slowly. Once he had taken a bite of each item he reached for the smaller box containing the pie and opened it, but didn't eat any. He looked up at Dean once more and then closed the pie box. Dean scanned the face for any identifying features, but with the heavy beard he still couldn't see anything that would help him in his quest. Even the guy's hands were covered with gloves. Once again he carefully placed the items on top of the teetering pile of items in the cart and made his way on down the street.

After leaving the bar that night Dean reluctantly went to the retail hell known as Wal-Mart and came out with a cart load of toys for the orphanage kids. Rather than leaving them on the bench across from the bar, he decided these should be left at the garage since there wouldn't be room for them in the cart if the previous nights were any indication. He waited the next day until he knew the man would be gone and carefully arranged the items near the door. On the bench across from the bar he left a note, using the prepaid cell phone he had purchased to weigh it down.

_Nothing here tonight, but you will find my donation later. My number is programmed into the phone…if you ever need anything. I'll be leaving for home tonight, but I hope I've helped you in some way._

_Dean Winchester_

Taking his place by the window one last time Dean watched, but was disappointed when the man failed to appear. After nursing his beer for an hour he gave up and went back to the hotel to gather his things. He had done all he could without scaring the guy away and his number was in the phone. He left town on the road that went by the garage even though it would take him out of his way, hoping he would see some sign of the man. He didn't, but he kept looking in the rearview mirror as long as the garage was still in sight.

A week went by after he returned home and Sam had found them a few hunts. That kept his mind off of the homeless man for the most part, but he found his mind wandering back to the mystery man at night once he was in bed and trying to sleep. Maybe he should have done more. Worry began to nag at him as he thought about the man's failure to appear that last night. Was he just trying to avoid the gifts or had something happened to him? After three consecutive sleepless nights he decided to go back and approach the man even if it did cause him to run.

Dean rolled into town just after dark and checked in at the same motel before cruising by the garage. There were no signs of life so he went on to the bar, getting a few menacing looks from the men sitting at the bar as he entered. The waitress came over and placed a beer on the table, looking at him strangely before walking away. Dean looked out the window with trepidation, wondering if the man would appear. A half hour after the appointed time Dean breathed a sigh of relief as the cart came into view, but he immediately cringed when he saw that the man was struggling to push the cart, limping badly.

The waitress shot him a glare from across the room, and he motioned her over. She came and two rather large men dismounted their bar stools to follow her. The hair on the back of Dean's neck stood up as they gathered around the table.

"Is there a problem?" Dean said, wondering why they were obviously threatening him.

"Yeah, there is…you!" said the larger of the two men flexing his well muscled arm.

"I'm just sitting here drinking a beer. I don't have a problem with you." Dean said, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"Well, we have a problem with you. You roll in here last week and start asking questions about _him_, then try to bribe him with gifts and he ends up in an alley beaten up on the same night you leave town? That can't be a coincidence." The smaller man said, motioning out the window with his thumb.

"Hey, I was trying to help the guy, get him back with his family or something. I certainly didn't beat him up." Dean said, spreading his wide to show he wasn't a threat.

"There's nobody in this town who would touch him. Even the _lowlifes_ give him a wide berth so it had to be somebody from out of town." The waitress said, obviously not as convinced.

"So that's why he didn't show up that last night I was here. I just thought I had scared him away so I decided to leave and left him a cell phone so he could call me if he wanted to."

"Well as you can see he's been badly hurt, but he wouldn't let anyone help when we found him, just got up and limped away." the waitress said, motioning the men to go back to the bar.

"OK that's it. I'm gonna help him whether he likes it or not if I have to pick him up and carry him." Dean said as he slid out of the booth and stood up.

"He won't like it."

"I don't give a damn whether he likes it or not."

Dean threw some bills on the table and stormed out the door, looking down the street to see the man disappearing around the corner. He started for the Impala and then thought better of it, the sound of the bellowing engine would certainly tell the guy he was coming. He ran toward the corner and looked to the right where he had last seen him and saw him sitting on a bench about halfway down the block rubbing his injured leg. Dean slowed to a walk and approached slowly, holding his hands up to signal he wasn't a threat.

The man glanced up briefly at Dean as if he already knew that someone was approaching. His shoulders sagged slightly as Dean stopped about 10 feet from the bench.

"Will you let me help you? You need a hospital…or at least a place to rest up that isn't a concrete floor."

The man buried his face in his hands, shaking his head vigorously at the same time.

"I won't hurt you. I just…I don't know…something keeps telling me I'm supposed to help."

Taking his hands away from his face the man reached into his shirt pocket with a sigh and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He took one out and pulled the scarf down, then hung it in the corner of his mouth before offering one to Dean. Dean hesitated since he hadn't smoked since the boys' room in high school, but he figured he could at least go through the motions since it appeared the guy was at least willing to suffer his presence.

Dean pulled out his Zippo, offering to light the one dangling precariously from the man's lips. He then lit his own and coughed a little as the first inhale hit the back of his throat. A soft chuckle came from the mysterious man and he motioned for Dean to sit down. Dean sat down on the opposite end of the bench, noticing that at least one of his gifts had been put to use. The boots appeared to be the right size, but the one on his left foot was unlaced, obviously to make room for some swelling.

"So, how can I help?"

"You shouldn't." the man said, after a moment of hesitation.

That voice…it was different…softer…but still it could only belong to one person.


	2. Dilemma

**Dilemma**

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><p>"Cas?"<p>

"Yes." Castiel said, reaching up to pull the sunglasses off after looking up and down the street to make sure no one else was around.

Dean locked his eyes on Castiel's bottomless blue ones and stared, suddenly unable to think of anything to say.

"You look like you just saw a ghost." Castiel said, smiling slightly.

"I…um…well…yes. I thought so anyway." Dean stuttered out.

"I had hoped it would remain that way. You really shouldn't be around me. It's dangerous for you…and for me." Castiel said flatly, then took a long drag from his cigarette.

Dean looked at the forgotten cigarette in his own hand and brought it to his mouth, taking a long drag and wondering if the head rush was the cigarette or the realization that he was sitting here with Castiel after all of this time...smoking a cigarette.

"Dangerous how? You're a homeless dude. Nobody bothers you…at least not until last week."

"There are those that wish me harm after my um…rather unfortunate display of God-like powers. They have been following you off and on hoping you would lead them to me. I thought they had given up, but obviously I was mistaken." Castiel said, flicking the ashes off the end of his cigarette with an obviously practiced hand.

"Shit! How could I not notice? Who? Angels? Demons?"

"Angels, Demons, humans…I have encountered them all in the last few years. I came to the conclusion that the only way to deter them was to become the human equivalent of invisible…and no one ever takes notice of the homeless guy."

"So you are human?" Dean said, realizing that the only way he could be injured was if he was.

"I am…um…outwardly human."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, Dean, that I have…well…I guess you would say…disconnected from my Grace. It is still within me, but cloaked to prying eyes. A small portion is there if I need it, but if I use it my location will become visible to any Angels or Demons that wish to do me harm."

"So that's why we couldn't summon you? After we…well…you know…" Dean trailed off, uncertain if he should mention the ritual that ripped the souls out and sent them back to Purgatory.

"You nearly succeeded a few times, but I managed to return to my…lair…before you could complete the ritual. You failed to notice the blacklight paint when you were there, but the garage is well shielded against Demons, Angels, and Angel summoning spells."

Dean laughed with the sudden realization that Castiel had known all along that he was here.

"So you knew? That I was here, and that I visited your….lair? Um Cas…seriously? A _lair_?"

"That seems to describe it most aptly…it is certainly not a home. Yes, I knew from the moment I heard people talking about the Impala. Automobiles of that vintage are not exactly a common sight around here. My only uncertainty was whether we would cross paths, but I had to maintain my routine rather than try to avoid you or else others would notice."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably on the bench, wincing at the pain in his leg before snuffing out his cigarette on the sidewalk.

"You can't heal yourself when you are…unplugged?" Dean said, looking worriedly at Castiel.

"I am able to if I wish, however it is unwise since people would think it strange if I suddenly got up from a pool of blood and walked away unscathed. I think of it as penance for my…rather poor performance in the role of God. I seem to be better suited to the role of homeless guy."

"But that wasn't you Cas…it was the souls. We knew deep down it wasn't you, that's why we had to get them out. Sorry if it was painful."

"It was rather painful, but I needed your help so I allowed it."

"Gods need help?"

"They do when they are possessed by millions of tainted souls. I was unable to rid myself of them without your help. Thank you, Dean."

"And the _poof _into thin air?"

"I was hopeful that it would convince you that I was truly gone. I did not wish to bring any further peril to you, Sam, or Bobby." Castiel began to twirl the sunglasses in his hand and looked at Dean thoughtfully.

"Why can't we summon any other Angels?"

"The ritual you know only works on Angels that have taken a vessel. Since they have all returned to Heaven and are in their true form you will be unable to summon them that way."

"Why don't the prayers work?"

"I think they are just ignoring you, since you no longer figure into their _Grand Plan_." Castiel laughed and pushed himself up to a standing position.

"So, what now? You just gonna hang around here playing homeless guy?"

"I am contributing something to the community while shielding myself from my enemies. It is a reasonable solution."

Castiel leaned against the cart, obviously in a lot of pain. Dean could see fading bruises on his face and he groaned slightly as he shifted his weight onto his uninjured leg. If he still looked this bad after a week he must have been beaten up really bad.

"Until you get beat up in an alley."

"I believe humans call it _method acting. _It is of not of import. I will heal and it helps to complete the picture. If I am in a situation where I am in serious danger I can call upon my Grace, but as I said it would signal my presence to the other Angels and the Demons that might still hold a grudge."

"But why? Can't you just fake the limp? You can't be happy this way."

Castiel looked at Dean intently for a few seconds and then pulled another cigarette out. After Dean offered his Zippo again he inhaled deeply and easily let a few smoke rings float into the night air. He watched them dissipate and then turned back to Dean.

"I am…content. That is enough. I help people that need it and I am below the radar of those that would do harm to me and the ones I used to call friends."

"I'm _still_ your friend Cas, you didn't stick around to find that out. You need friends. Friends that are here help when _you _need something. I know we let you down, but then we couldn't see beyond our own noses. I'm sorry for that Cas."

Dean stood up and moved closer to Castiel. Slowly he reached out, laying his hand on Castiel's shoulder. He couldn't think of any words that would speak louder than the gesture so he said nothing. Castiel tensed for a second and then subtly leaned into the touch.

"You also need that Cas…if you are going to be human. You need human touch. We all do. Please come home with me…with us. We were your family once…and we can be again."

Castiel closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath before abruptly drawing away.

"I have survived this long without it. My presence will only bring you harm. You and everyone I worked so hard to save. I imagine Sam is still rather upset with me…and Bobby. I don't think it's a good idea."

"Sam and Bobby are not a problem. They understand now why you felt you had to do what you did…and Sam has dealt with those memories and filed them away. I get why you feel that you have to hide yourself away, but if you won't leave with me will you at least stay with me at the motel until you heal up? Sleep in a nice soft bed for a few days? I can't leave you here like this. I'll never forgive myself if I do."

"Dean, I can't. Every moment I stand here with you puts both of us in danger. If someone sees me go with you then I don't know what might happen."

"Surely they have given up and moved on to other things by now. It's been almost two years."

"You haven't…so they probably haven't either. The ones who attacked me last week were merely humans that did not like some of the things I did as God. Next week might bring something more dangerous if the word gets around that they found me. I do not wish to endanger the people of this town…or you."

"Come on Cas, you clearly need help. We can help you…figure out exactly who's still after you and put an end to it. You can't hide forever."

Castiel sighed and looked intently at Dean. "I suppose you will hound me until I go with you, but I need to get these things back to the garage. I found some nice things tonight."

Castiel picked at the items in the cart idly, then pulled out another cigarette and perched it in his lips expectantly.

"You stay here. I'll go get the Impala and we can put them in the trunk. _Don't _move…don't _poof_…if you are gone when I get back so help me I'll track you to the end of the earth…got it? I'm _not _lighting another cigarette for you either…you smoke too much!"

"I was wondering if you were ever going to say anything about that. It's not like they are going to kill me and I had to have at least one vice to look the part."

Castiel laughed, a hearty human laugh Dean was surprised to hear. It was strange to see Castiel like this, but it suited him somehow. Like Stoner Cas of the future but without the drugs. Dean smiled and laughed along with Castiel, any remaining tension between them broken. Dean relented and offered up his lighter, watching as Castiel cupped the flame with his hands.

"Dude, I'm just glad it's only cigarettes after what I saw when Zachariah sent me to the future. I'll be right back. Sit down, put your leg up and finish that one before I get back. No smoking in the car!"

Castiel exhaled and let the smoke trail off in Dean's direction before sitting down heavily and pulling his leg up on the bench. Dean turned and quickly ran for the car, hoping that Castiel would still be there when he got back. He was still uncertain that his offer of help would be accepted.

After he got back to the car he got in and cranked it, listening to the low rumble of the engine and hesitating before putting it in gear. Castiel was right. If he rescued his friend from this situation he was opening himself up to dangers he had thought were gone. He was also putting Castiel in danger just by trying. The easy way out would be to just leave. Dean knew that Castiel would not think badly of him if he did…would probably breathe a sigh of relief and go on about the homeless guy act like nothing had ever happened, but Dean Winchester never took the easy way out of anything so he settled into the seat and drove back to where he left Castiel.

Dean half expected Castiel to be gone, but he was still sitting in the bench. He winced as he pulled his leg slowly from the bench and stood up…it was obviously bothering him more than he let on. Opening the trunk, Dean pulled out a ceremonial staff he had taken from the last witch he ganked.

"Here. Might as well put this to good use…the witch that used to own it certainly doesn't need it anymore."

"I don't need…"

Dean glared at Castiel and interrupted him, taking Castiel fingers and wrapping them around the stick. "You do need it. Don't argue with me. I know more about patching up bum legs than you will ever learn, so use it unless you are going to unleash some Angel mojo!"

Castiel opened his mouth to say something and Dean glared at him. His mouth snapped shut and he stepped toward the cart and started trying to turn it to toward the Impala.

"Nope, Cas. You get in the car. I'll do the heavy lifting. Just lie down in the back seat and rest."

After Castiel reluctantly leaned on the staff and limped toward the car and got in, Dean carefully stuffed the contents of the cart into the passenger seat. He then lifted the cart into the trunk, tying the lid down with a bungee cord. By the time he slid behind into the driver's seat he could hear soft snoring coming from the back seat. Dean smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. After all this time he had his angel back…now if he could just keep him safe.


End file.
